The various Divine Formsthat manifest throughout historytake refuge at Her Lotus Feet.The Essence of Divinity,the Great Ground of Being,lies in ecstatic absorptionbeneath Her red-soled Feet.

Is Mother simply a Goddess?Does She need a male consortto protect or complete Her?The cycle of birth and deathbows reverently before Her.Is She simply nakedor is She naked Truth?No veil can conceal Her.Her naked radiance slays demonsnot with weapons but with splendor.

You need to forget the mistakes,they are the part of life,the part of the growth.Remember only not to repeat them.Erase the guilt from your heart,for guilt is a heavy load for your Soul.Learn from it and above all,forgive yourself.Forget the past,just remember the lesson.Let your heart be light as a feather.

In this journey of the Soul,balance is the best friend you should have.Seek the Beloved with all your heart,but do not forget to live.For life is Beloved's playground.Above all,guard your heart,guard it like a treasure,so your vision can be clear.In this journey,every step is showered with roses,every step hides the blessings we are yet not able to see.Hold the Beloved in your heart,and do not forget to laugh,to play,to dance.For,remember,He is the one who is dancing.

Silence is the most potent form of work. However vast and emphatic the scriptures may be they fail in their effect. The Guru is quiet and peace prevails in all. His silence is vaster and more emphatic than all the scriptures put together. These questions arise because of the feeling that, having been here so long, heard so much, exerted so hard, one has not gained anything. The work proceeding within is not apparent. In fact, the Guru is always within you.

Question: Can the Guru's silence really bring about advanced states of spiritual awareness?

Ramana: There is an old story, which demonstrates the power of the Guru's silence. Tattvaraya composed a bharani, a kind of poetic composition in Tamil, in honour of his Guru Swarupananda, and convened an assembly of learned scholars [pundits] to hear the work and assess its value. The pundits raised the objection that a bharani was only composed in honour of great heroes capable of killing a thousand elephants in battle and that it was not in order to compose such a work in honour of an ascetic.

Thereupon the author said, "Let us all go to my Guru and we shall have this matter settled there."

They went to the Guru and, after they had all taken their seats, the author told his Guru the purpose of their visit. The Guru sat silent and all the others also remained in silence. The whole day passed, the night came, and some more days and nights, and yet all sat there silently, no thought at all occurring to any of them and nobody thinking or asking why they had come there. After three or four days like this, the Guru moved his mind a bit, and the people assembled immediately regained their thought activity. They then declared, "Conquering a thousand elephants is nothing beside this Guru's power to conquer the rutting elephants of all our egos put together. So certainly he deserves the bharani in his honour!"

It was the last of these, Swami Vivekananda, the magnificent, who stole the whole show and captured the town. Others of the foreign groups spoke well-the Greek, the Russian, the Armenian, Mazoomdar of Calcutta, Dharmapala of Ceylon-leaning, some of these upon interpreters. Shibata, the Shintu, bowed his wired white headdress to the ground, spread his delicate hands in suave gestures, and uttered gravely with serene politeness his incomprehensible words. But the handsome monk in the orange robe gave us in perfect English a masterpiece. His personality, dominant, magnetic; his voice, rich as a bronze bell; the controlled fervor of his feeling; the beauty of his message to the Western world he was facing for the first time-these combined to give us a rare and perfect moment of supreme emotion. It was human eloquence at its highest pitch.

Harriet Monroe the founder of Poetry A Magazine of Verse, through which she introduced many of America 's now famous poets attended the World's Fair in 1893 and years later in her autobiography, A Poet's Life, recorded her impressions of the Parliament of Religions and of Swami Vivekananda

A song I sing. A song I sing to Thee! Nor care I for men's comments, good or bad. Censure or praise I hold of no account. Servant am I, true servant of Thee Both (Purusha and Prakriti together), Low at Thy feet, with Shakti, I salute!

Thou standest steadfast, ever at my back, Hence when I turn me round, I see Thy face, Thy smiling face. Therefore I sing again And yet again. Therefore I fear no fear; For birth and death lie prostrate at my feet.

Thy servant am I through birth after birth, Sea of mercy, inscrutable Thy ways; So is my destiny inscrutable; It is unknown; nor would I wish to know. Bhakti, Mukti, Japa, Tapas, all these, Enjoyment, worship, and devotion too ? These things and all things similar to these, I have expelled at Thy supreme command. But only one desire is left in me ? An intimacy with Thee, mutual! Take me, O Lord across to Thee; Let no desire's dividing line prevent.

The eye looks out upon the universe, Nor does it seek to look upon itself; Why should it? It sees itself in others. Thou art my eyes! Thou and Thou alone; For every living temple shrines Thy face.